#which is laughable for the result here

[bluewinnerangel]

Where they got the inspo.

Larrie Inktober day 10: sushi. Not exactly finished but I'm not focusing anymore. Heard we're drawing creepy eyes for sushi so may I add our weird scary eye bros watching (or rather Harry is) Monsters, Inc.'s scene of the sushi restaurant, which serves eyeballsushi, and is basically called Harry's House, because yes. Or: what happens when you let this post inspire you.

[schwarzkatje]

dark!orphan!ellie x nun!reader

disclaimer: i don't ever write notes but this smells like too much blasphemy not to put some warnings and disclaimers. so, this contains ellie being still in an orphanage BUT i obviously changed the age so that she is of age because it goes without saying that p*dophilia is not contemplated here. also, "sister" is used as a synonym for "nun", not with the meaning of "family member". lastly, it does contain smut even though it's not so detailed.

> for part 2 click here || for part 3 click here

ellie didn't wake up one day choosing to be mean. in fact, if you ever asked her why the rude behaviour, she would simply laugh it off and tell you to shut the fuck up with a bitterness so unlikely for such a young girl.

ellie thought it was her god given right to do whatever she wanted, having being already stripped enough of the pillars of her life, namely a happy family and a place her heart could call home. that resulted in her receiving reprimands and punishments from the nuns more than any other kid in the orphanage.

and you, the youngest of the nuns tasked with the upbringing of the kids and the newest addition to the orphanage, seeing how ellie behaved, decided it was the perfect opportunity to enact the knowledge you had acquired during your noviciate by devouring books about dysfunctional behaviour, specifically in orphans. you were positive people could change if showed how.

what you would invoke the lord's name for to swear was your entire and firmly believed doctrine, came to a brutal halt the very moment you came to the realisation of what ellie's bad reputation really was about.

it wasn't just a typical scenographic display of childish behaviours like refusing to attend class or the occasional smuggling of cigarettes that concurred to tear apart your good intentions. these were merely common patterns studied throughout the years by psychologists and educators, and the main topics in all of your books.

no, what made you falter was the fact that ellie seemed to relish being mean. if others acting the same way sported an inconsolable sorrow in their eyes, ellie's green ones would glow with the eagerness that came with the raising of the voices of the nuns, the laughable detentions and the yet unexplored range of just how far was too far.

it didn't help that ellie had learnt from the older kids all the gross vocabulary she has now assimilated, repeating the filthy words as a sort of statement to maintain the hierarchical status she has fought for and ultimately achieved among the majority of the orphans.

so it caught you off guard only the first time ellie fiercely exclaimed that "if you care so much about me maybe you should suck my dick tonight," as you apprehended over time that this wasn't and wouldn't have been an isolated incident, rather an infuriating routine that seemed only to increase the more you showed ellie how much it pissed you off.

of course, that time your cheeks were burning red and your brain was at war with the mortification of having received such a vulgarity in front of other pupils, alongside the humiliation that ticked with each second you spent silent, at a loss for words to properly tackle the problem at hand.

the best thing you managed to come up with was the most generic and fruitless "go out," pointing at the class door.

before ellie could walk through the door, she turned to you, smirking like you had just made her day, and slurring a sultry "don't get so wet when you scold me," after which she left, winking at you.

your hands were tied. you understood that you could inform the other sisters of what ellie was making you go through, but you understood just as well that it would be no to avail since the other nuns were there way before you and knew to a greater extent the amount of work needed to be implemented when dealing with ellie.

after the heat of the moment had died down, you gathered all of your strength, prayed hoping to receive some mercy, and recited like a mantra that you were the bigger person and couldn't possibly let your purpose go to waste.

the fact was that you realised too late that the presence of what you called the devil had certainly been lurking around and now manifested itself in the obscene form of ellie fucking two of her fingers inside of you from behind in the scriptorium, something that dealt the final blow to any hope of creating the optimal conditions to demonstrate the good of your heart.

ellie and her breath, together with her hands, were four fiends cooperating under the same objectives, being disrupting you, disrupting everything you represented and disrupting everything you stood for.

"no one has ever made you feel so good," ellie was insane herself for needing to hear you say it "otherwise, you wouldn't be needing to play the part of the perfect little sister who thinks she can fix everyone to compensate how empty she is," and no matter how desperately you tried and tried and cried out while doing so, your pussy was glistening with slick, feeling euphoric and on the brink of madness with how enticing the sensation and the blasphemous words that left ellie's mouth were. "you would be too cock drunk and stuffed with cum to care about anything else".

the ink and quill you were previously using laid on your desk where they shouldn't, spilling the black liquid and dirtying everything they touched. ellie could be compared to the two items, given how many times the sisters told her how harmful her tainting existence was. and maybe that was the reason her brain clicked and gave the command to her right hand to gather some of the ink and write "ellie's cum dump" on your ass.

as soon as your breathing quickened, ellie grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanked it throwing your head impossibly backwards and let you ride out the hardest orgasm of your life. the gesture wasn't just a display of dominance but it served as a lever to push you flat against the desk, treating you like a discarded toy.

"next time you come for me, expect me to fuck your ass. and it won't be with my fingers only"

[m2ok]

Golden Salvation

pt.2

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Male Reader

A/N: HI GUYS!!! IM BACK!!! It’s been… a hot minute, and I apologize for my sudden disappearance (And all the unanswered asks which I will eventually get to don’t worry!) But here is a fic to make up for it! This is just part one, and while I have the rest planned out let me know if you guys even like this and want me to continue :)

             

   Batwing doors opened, a heavy squeak following their movement as the result of rusted hinges, Heavy footsteps hit against equally creaky wooden floors with slow and methodical steps. One Simon Riley came waltzing in… a smirk on his face and his hat tilted low over his eyes as the other people in the saloon looked away.

Everyone knew of him; it was damn near impossible not to with his reputation. He sat down on a worn stool, a gruff sigh leaving his lips as he took his hat off and rested it on the bar in front of him. His eyes, you would swear, glimmered when he looked up at you from his place on his seat, a rare moment when you were taller than him.

“Hi, pretty boy” he cooed “Miss me much?”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips, rolling your eyes as you set the glasses you had been polishing down. Without so much as a word yet you leaned over, plucking his hat from the wood it was settled on to place it on your head instead, a sort of teasing only you could hope to get away with.

“Hey there, Cowboy” you said, flicking the hat, his hat, up over your eyes so you could see properly. “’Course I missed ya… yer my favorite customer after all” Though you teased, you both knew he was much more than a regular customer.

Simons lips curled into an easy smirk as he gazed up at you, eyebrows quirking with intrigue.

“Well now, aint you looking pretty as a picture” he drawled, reaching up to trace his thumb along your jawline. A low chuckle rumbled deep from his chest- he always did love your teasing spirit.

“Favorite, huh? Reckon I’ll hold ya to that, darling” His eyes darkened just a touch as he leaned in, breath whispering against your skin. There was an unspoken question there, a hungry gleam that promised all sorts of trouble if you chose to indulge him.

For now, Simon simply toyed with the worn brim of his hat atop your head, satisfaction radiating off him in waves.

“Sure, do feel mighty fine seein’ my colors on ya. Been far too long” he’d comment.

You would hum as you leaned into his gentle touch, an almost laughable dichotomy when compared to the blood that had been spilled by them. You gazed up at him with adoring, devoted eyes.

“I could be in your colors every night if youd stay” you’d whisper, your words for him and only him to hear. It was almost impossible to get Simon to stay with you longer than a week anymore and he would get antsy to hit the wild again, his soul calling for him to wander from town to town.

Simon’s breath hitched at your words; eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the simple intimacy you graced him with. Things were never simple with him – his was a dangerous line of work that more often than not left him with a target on his back.

And yet…the way you looked at him, like he hung the very stars in the sky…it was downright bewitching. Made a man forget all his wrongs and want to be redeemed.

“Darlin’” he sighed, rough palms gently cupping your cheek. His expression was unusually soft and vulnerable, a rare peek behind a steely façade. “Aint nothin’ I want more than to stay wrapped up in you forever…but ya know I got debts to pay, and it aint safe…”

His voice trailed off, unspoken realities lingering heavily in the air between you two. Staying was a risk he wasn’t sure he had the right to take, no matter how much you stirred his soul.

You would nod, glancing away from his eyes as you slowly leaned back up from where you were resting on your elbows, allowing his hand to leave your cheek as you created a space of distance. Both physically and mentally.

All you wanted was to be his entirely, but it wasn’t in the cards for you. “I know…” you’d acknowledge, a sad sort of smile permeating your lips. Part of you believed he liked the outlaw life, and could you rightly blame him? Going from town to town with nothing tethering you down for too long. Being able to leave with the sunrise, the only person you were answering to being yourself.

But oh how you longed every night to be the thing he wanted to come home to, to be the reason he would stay.

You would carefully take the hat off your head, placing it back down on his own, your actions a silent understanding of his words.

Simon would frown as you withdrew, immediately missing the reassuring presence of you in his space. He knew this life caused you pain – knew he was the source of it, in a way. But old habits die hard, and walking the outlaw’s path was engrained deep in his blood.

Reaching up, his fingers curled carefully around your wrist before you could pull away fully. Not to stop you, merely to offer quiet solace in his touch.

“I ain’t never meant to string you along, darlin’” he said gruffly “Fact is… part of me does like ridin’ the wind. But another part…” His gazed flicked meaningfully to where his hand held you, imploring you to believe the sincerity in his eyes.

“Another part thinks it might be time to settle. Plant my feet somewhere they can’t be dug up so easy. And there ain’t no other plot of soil that calls to me like you do”

It was as close to a declaration as Simon had ever come. His walls were crumbling away piece by piece in your presence.

You would carefully pry his hand from his wrist, picking up your rag and a fresh glass to polish, avoiding his eyes as you worked. “I believe you Simon, really I do…But that’s only part of you” Youd say, stealing a glance over at him.

“I couldn’t ask you to ignore that other part, what kinda man would I be if I asked that of you?” you’d say.

Simons fingers flexed instinctively as your hand slipped free, the loss resonating deep in his core. He sighed, long and low, tipped hat casting shadows across his weathered features.

You spoke the brutal truth – he was far too wild a creature to ever truly be named. And you, with your heart of gold…you deserved someone whole, not half a man forever torn between two worlds.

“I reckon yer right, as usual” He said gruffly, rueful smile playing at his lips. And yet his eyes remained dark, conflicted, as if desperately seeking an alternative solution you both knew did not exist.

This was your tragedy, written in the stars from the beginning. Two souls who fit together perfectly, if only the fates had not made them for different paths.

Reaching out, Simon gave your hand a final gentle squeeze before releasing in once more. “Ya never stop amazin’ me darlin’. I sure as hell don’t deserve ya. But I aim to prove myself worthy, one of these days.”

His words trailed off into weighted silence. For now, this was goodbye. Somewhere deep in his soul Simon swore it wouldn’t be the last, couldn’t be.

Simon rose from the stool with a grunt, his hat settled over his brow as he gave the saloon one last lingering sweep. Memories of your sweetness lingered in every splintered beam, in every scratch in the wooden floor where his bootheels had worn down the polish of years past.

This place had become more home to him than any house of sticks or stones ever could, all because of you.

With a sigh, Simon pushed through those familiar batwing doors out into the dusty street. Sunset painted the sky a flaming orange, shadows stretched long across the dirt. Another night was falling…and he had a debt to collect before morning came.

But in his heart of hearts, he felt a seed had planted, a hope that one day he might return to stay. For good.

You would retreat to your little home for the night after closing the saloon, doing your best to put the conversation in a box in your mind as you slipped into bed for the night. Another evening with the other side cold as the steel Simon holstered. You could only bite back tears as you closed your eyes, desperate to find solace in sleep.

It wasn’t but three hours later, after you had long drifted off into the reprieve that was your dreamscape, that you were awoken to the sound of glass shattering. You would jolt up, heart nearly beating out of your chest as a figure stalked into the room, their movements slow and at ease before they stepped into the moonlight and their face came into view.

“well well well…” the man said, a dark glint in his eyes “If it aint Ghosts little plaything” The man grinned, hand on the hilt of his belt as he took out his gun, pointing it right at you.

[blue-rose-soul]

"Great Alastor Altruist* died for his friends!"

This scene has been spinning in my brain since Thursday. Like a lot of other people, my first thought was that this was an indication that Alastor had grown to care for Charlie and her friends at the hotel. And it's not because of the words he says. Even if you're watching without subtitles and don't see the quotations around that phrase, it's pretty obvious that he's laughing at the very thought.

"Me? Alastor? Dying for them?"

"Ridiculous."

"Absurd!"

"Utterly laughable!"

No, what makes me think that there might be a kernel of truth there isn't the words by themselves. It's the look on his face as he says them.

This is the part where Alastor's angry snarl breaks and he begins to look genuinely afraid. He clutches his chest. He digs his fingers into his scalp, drags his hand down the side of his face. And that's a perfectly reasonable reaction to nearly dying! It's very human! But I think it's very telling that this expression doesn't settle on his face until he's talking about dying for someone else. Before this he looked more angry than anything, and he lapses back into anger up until he begins talking about trying to find a way out of his deal.

Now, don't get me wrong, I understand why anyone would think otherwise. The thing about Alastor is that, despite how blatant it is, his mask works. Like I stated earlier, I find myself searching every word, expression, and gesture from Alastor for double meaning. Ostensibly, there's no one here for Alastor to lie to**. No one he has to put up an act for. But his smile, which he's already fully admitted is faker than fake, remains firmly in place. I wonder if putting up an act is so second nature to him at this point he can't help but do it even when he's alone. Maybe he tries to fool himself as much as other people.

I believe that he has come to care, but I can't fully believe it. I won't be surprised to be wrong. But there are some scenes that just don't make sense to me if he really doesn't care at all.

His chat with Niffty the night before the extermination, for example. Niffty isn't really someone he needs to trick. He has power over her, whether it's because he owns her soul or because of her blind devotion to him. It's telling that while everyone else is hanging out together, sharing drinks at the bar, Alastor keeps his distance and positions himself above them. At this point, Alastor seems to care about them the way we, the audience, care about them; as entertainment. He's enjoying watching their story unfold up close, but that's all there is to it. He admits to Niffty that one could get accustomed to being with them. Not him though! He's above all that.

Then the battle happens. At first, Alastor's role in the battle didn't require him to assume too much risk. He was on crowd control, limiting the number of exorcists the rest of the hazbins have to deal with at once. And he slayed a not insubstantial number of angels in the process***. But then Adam broke through Alastor's shield and singled him out. It would have been reasonable for Alastor to put some distance between himself and the Lead Exorcist. Charlie did say it was his job to deal with Adam, but as I've already discussed, Alastor really had no hope of winning that fight alone. Maybe if he'd escaped right then and there, or fought Adam alongside Charlie things would have turned out differently. Granted, I don't think his pride would have allowed him to take either of those options.

Regardless, the end result is that Alastor did come very close to dying for a cause that wasn't his. Considering what Adam did to the hotel, Alastor's pretty damn lucky he's not in two pieces here.

Now, I don't think this means Alastor is immediately going to turn around and integrate int o the hazbin family. Immediately after this line where he mocks the idea of dying for Charlie's cause, he gets angry again, leans further into the Radio Demon persona and starts contemplating ways to escape his contract. I think, that like someone recoiling after accidentally touching a hot stove, Alastor's going to pull further away from them. One thing I am certain about is how Alastor feels about his leash; he hates it. He wants to be rid of it. He doesn't know how to do that yet, but he's working out a plan and having Charlie in his corner is part of that plan. Giving a genuine shit about her or the other hazbins is not part of that plan. It's another leash, not as literal as the one connecting him to his patron but just as binding.

Alastor realizing he might actually care about these people may just make him more dangerous to them than if he just didn't care at all.

-

(*The word 'altruist' here being used as a title, not a name. Like something you'd see in a newspaper headline, or on a headstone.)

(**There do seem to be some odd eye motifs in the environment, but at no point does Alastor give any indication he is aware of them or acknowledge their presence in anyway. And I highly doubt he would have said certain things if he believed his patron was actively watching him.)

(***Taking this opportunity to go off topic a bit to call the Vees out on their hypocrisy. For all their bluster about 'taking the fight to Heaven' and how 'pussy' the older Overlords supposedly are, I didn't see any of them on the battlefield. Alastor was. He fought as long and hard as he could. There was nothing cowardly about him living to fight another day.)

[yukishirostar]

So people are talking about a post in the Zolu tag by a certain tumblr user in regards to their issues with Zolu as a ship. They shall be unnamed because i dont wish to bring attention to them and instead just want to focus on their arguments because they're not the first people to make some of these points and so this is also an opportunity for me to talk about these things (a tweet is going around on Twitter containing these screenshots with the username so you can find it there if you need to anyway).

The way this person dismisses the relationship between Zoro and Luffy as a result of needing to pair gay Zoro with someone is too laughable, they must be very fit in order to be able to do these mental gymnastics. I believe that many people who are going on about the Zolu scenes in the OPLA were already Zolu shippers who were familiar with the original story and are enjoying the moments because they were well, really good Zolu moments? And there is actually, shockingly, many good Zolu moments in the original story too which is why many people ship them. Wild, I know.

Then there's 'straight-washed Sanji'. Equally if not more of a bizarre thing to believe. I might make some people mad especially the Sanji stans out there who constantly insist on the 'repressed queer' narrative with his character, but Sanji is written pretty explicitly to be seen as a cisgender and heterosexual character. The way you say with your whole chest that Luffy is 'canonically' aroace but don't acknowledge that Sanji is 'canonically' cishet is beyond hypocritical. If you believe Sanji looking like a 'misogynistic straight man' is different from the way he is written in canon then maybe you should go back and reread/rewatch series with your eyes open this time. If you wish to headcanon him with the frankly offensive repressed bisexual/transgender cliché then go ahead, but that is clearly not the intention Oda has with his character.

There's also the fact that aroace people can uh. Be in relationships. Get married. Have children. Did it occur to you that many people who ship Zolu ship them as an ace couple or-

First thing I want to say here, as a trans man who is 'mlm', can other dudes stop with this idea that women or fem-aligned individuals enjoying homosexual relationships between two men is inherently fetishising or that as a masc-aligned individual your enjoyment of a ship is morally superior in some way. Stop pulling out your 'mlm/ transmasc / cis gay' card in order to justify why your ship is superior. Its cringe af.

But if we are to insist that 'cishet female gaze fetishising mlm' is going on then ironically Zosan fits that the better than any ship in the fandom. It being by far the most popular mlm ship means there is likely a higher proportion of people who identify as cishet women who ship it. Its also the classic 'two men who dislike/hate eachother and have a toxic relationship but hot sexual tension' slash/yaoi stereotype. Majority of Zosan I've come across is depicting Zoro as the masculine male man in the relationship while Sanji the effeminate twink that Sanji stans project themselves onto and they go crazy for the bickering that is apparently reminiscent to them of a toxic heterosexual marriage. Meanwhile every Zolu/Luzo shipper I've interacted with has been some flavour of queer and Zolu is closest to the 'falling in love with your same sex bestie' narrative that the majority if not every non-heterosexual person has experienced at least once in their lifetime. This is just my personal view of course, but I think noting a difference in perspective on this topic is interesting and reveals that at the end of the day this is totally subjective and based purely on anecdotes.

Also it's just a very weird point here that apparently OP has 'plenty of varied queer rep' (it actually doesn't have that many canonical queer characters in relation to its cast size but anyway) and other media doesn't so shipping aroace characters in gay relationships is valid in those but not in One Piece … HUH???? So you're saying if One Piece had 'less' queer rep, then Zolu would be fine to ship? Idek my brain hurts.

"I have black friends so I'll speak for the black community and get offended for them" (btw this person then proceeded to block aroace people who had issues with their depiction of aroace people).

Also if we're talking canonical depictions, the only thing Zoro has been canonically depicted as is also aroace, equally if not moreso than Luffy. So by your own rules, you can't ship a cishet (sanji) with an aroace (zoro), therefore Zosan is now invalid. Stop erasing Zoro's aroace identity bigot.

'Categorically wrong' makes me laugh. I don't ship Zoro and Nami but like, people can ship what they want to??

'The general public is aware enough of gay people and how to spot them these days' uh... firstly this sounds very homophobic. Secondly the general public (cishet ppl) are famously bad at recognising queerness even when its in flashing lights before them. Thirdly you make it sound like Zoro was going around on roller skates and booty shorts listening to YMCA and Madonna in the show. I do agree he was gay-coded but it was mostly because he had sexual tension with every man he interacted with, not for the strange reasons you pointed out...

Its kinda the elephant in the room too but like. These are just headcanons. You can have multiple headcanons and interpretations of a character's sexuality. I can see Zoro as aroace virgin one day and a gay h*e the next. I'm actually allowed, legally, to do that.

The way they think shipping Zolu is harmful to aroace representation when BOTH characters are closest to being canonically aroace than anything yet ship Zosan, label being anti-Zolu as some kind of pro-ace activism, and then proceeded to block aroace people for criticising their incorrect depiction of what being aroace is...

This was a lot of words to say that you don't like a ship. Just say you don't like it, and it gets in the way of the ship you like, instead of writing a virtue signalling essay to justify your reasoning. Please.

They had some more to say on future posts I'll just pick my favourite bits

They really have this narrative that Zolu is only popular because of OPLA and can't fathom that its just a popular ship in general and always has been huh. And they couldn't make it more obvious that they're totally salty about it ranking in the top 100 most popular tumblr ships, lmao.

Your classic case of 'self-identifying ally who speaks over the people they are supposed allies of'. Its a general rule that you feel the need to declare yourself an ally you're probably not an ally, actual allies know they need to just shut up and do the work. Saying 'this character's aroace' and 'I have aroace friends' actually isn't what allyship is, thats just accepting that ace people exist which is like... the baseline.

Calling a wholesome loving ship like Zolu an icky ship is a severe consequence of online brain (this person is 26 years old btw)

[httpsleclerc]

here’s an idea for mick & vettel!reader :) they go go karting as young kids & at the track some rude boys make fun of her for being a girl & mick stands up for her

THANK YOU ANON I LOVE THIS

You beamed up at your dad, your wide, excited smile evident on your face despite the helmet you were wearing. Sebastian smiled as he situated you into the go kart, making sure that you were strapped in tight, since you were on the smaller side and tended to sometimes slide around the small seat.

"Feel okay, liebling?" He asked you, nodding and grinning as you gave him a thumbs up in response, looking over as Michael helped Mick into his own go-kart, going through the same routine he did with you. "Remember, you and Mick are on the same team, you don't need to beat Mick, just the other boys, okay?"

"Okay daddy," You responded, once again giving your dad a double thumbs up just to emphasise how much you understood what he was telling you. "Are you and Mick's daddy gonna watch us?" You asked your dad hopefully, Sebastians heart swooning at your puppy dog eyes which were visible through the visor on your helmet.

"Yes, Liebling, we'll be right over here cheering you both on, okay?" Your father assured you, stepping off of the go kart track as a whistle was blown, Michael coming to stand beside the younger German. The two watched and commented as you lead the rest of the boys for more than half of the allocated laps, with Mick taking over your lead in the second half, but watched as you pulled what could only be described as a stunning overtake last minute and winning overall.

"Daddy! I won!" You cheered as you came pelting towards your father, tossing your helmet to the side as you ran towards your dad, your small self colliding with his legs with a small grunt. Sebastian smiled as he picked you up, holding you at his hip so he could place a small kiss on your cheek as a congratulations.

"I know! You did so good, liebling!" Sebastian congratulated you as he pointed to the small gold medal hanging from your neck. "Mick did really well too, didn't he?" You nodded and grinned at the mention of your best friend, whose silver medal hung proudly around his neck as his own father congratulated him. "Me and Mick's dad are going to get you two ice cream, so you two stay here okay? Do not move." You nodded, understanding how stern your dad was being.

"You did so good y/n," Mick smiled at you as the two of you sat on the bench previously occupied by your fathers. You blushed as you looked away from him, going shy at the praise from your best friend.

"Thanks, I might let you win next time, Mickey," You teased him, the two of you giggling at your joke. However, your laughter didn't last long as you were soon pushed from your seat on the bench, landing on the ground on your hands and knees with an oof. "Ow! Hey!" You whined, tears bubbling in your eyes.

Three boys, who you had beaten, were clearly unhappy with the given result of the race - Which was a bit ironic since it was a kids go-karting race and not a real Formula One Grand Prix.

"What are you even doing here? You're just a stupid little girl, shouldn't you be playing with barbies or something?" The boys friends laughed at their jabs at you, laughing even further as you started quietly crying, at this point just wanting your dad and to go home. "Aww, poor crybabies upset. Maybe you should just go home, little girl." Their jabs at your age were almost laughable, since you were 6 and these boys were 8, you had driven laps around them during the race.

"Leave her alone! You're just jealous that she's better than you and that her dad is here," Mick tried to be as formidable as possible towards the older boys, who did seem taken aback at the young Schumachers words. "You're just being mean to her because you are not as good as she is, she did a lap around you and you so maybe you should go home and play barbies!"

Following Mick's defence of you, the older boys backed off and left the two of you alone, leaving Mick to help you up off of the ground and back up onto the bench.

"It's okay y/n, they are bad drivers anyway," Mick tried to make you laugh, but you continued crying due to the seething pain in your skinned palms.

"My hands hurt, Mickey," You cried to him. Mick, knowing a way to help you which his mom always did, picked up your hands gently and placed small kisses on each of your palms.

"There! All better."

[matan4il]

Today's daily update is going to be on the results of the Interenational Court of Justice's interim decision.

Over here, I wrote in advance about two things:

That the decision today is NOT about whether the war in Gaza constitutes a genocide.

That the likely outcome will be to grant provisional measures, but not the most important one South Africa was asking for, which is to instruct Israel to stop the war (meaning, surrender to Hamas).

The second part was fulfilled completely, but here's a bit more on the outcome we witnessed at the ICJ today:

-> Something that really stood out to me (and to several analysts I listened to) is that in its decision, the court mainly addressed the situation in Gaza, not whether or not Israel is responsible for it. Its decision to grant the provisional measures is based simply on the fact that the situation there is bad, while not addressing everything Israel has been doing to make it better.

-> A really interesting point that was brought up by an analyst who specializes in military law, was that none of the ICJ judges has any background in military law, and therefore they did not take that into account in their decision. In other words, they were sitting there, and judging the situation in a war zone, as if there was no war there. The analyst said that if the judges on the case had any knowledge of military law, there is no way this would have been the outcome (meaning, the ruling would have been far more favorable towards Israel, if the people who wre judging the situation, were the ones with the tools to properly understand it).

-> In order to file the lawsuit, SA had to prove that it is in a state of dispute with Israel over the countries' definition of "genocide," as both are parties to the convention to prevent genocide, giving the court the power to decide in the matter that caused the dispute. Israel argued they were not officially in a state of dispute, and showed that SA's official, diplomatic communication to indicate a dispute, was insufficient. What the court did, in order to grant itself the authority to decide in this matter, was to ignore the official, diplomatic communication (indicating that it was indeed insufficient) and relying on public statements as indicators of dispute. The problem with that is, that countries will often say publicly something different than what they tell each other behind the scenes, which the court ignores. There are several Middle Eastern countries that were officially not recognizing Israel, but behind the secenes had a good r/s and even collaborations with us. One example is Jordan, a country that we now have peace with. The other thing is the court didn't refer to a dispute over Israel and SA's definition of genocide in general, it relied on Israel and SA publicly giving different statements regarding whether the situation in Gaza constitutes a genocide. This doesn't seem to actually fly legally, but the ICJ judges are human, and when have humans ever willingly given up social power? Getting to judge the hottest topic in the world right now IS social power.

-> The most important thing is that the provisional measure instructing Israel to stop the war was not granted. Instead, a provisional measure instructing Israel to supply humanitarian aid, when Israel is already doing so, is laughable. The same goes for the one instructing Israel to avoid harming people, when Israel is already doing that. Most of the ICJ's decisions today were meaningless. That said, you can still count on Israel haters to distort them, and claim that the provisional measures being given is proof of genocide.

-> The court has also instructed Hamas to release the Israeli hostages within 30 days, which we all know is not going to happen. Since it won't, one analyst suggested that all of the court's decisions (the ICJ has asked Israel to file reports within 30 days, showing it has complied with the provisional measures) can be treated as null and void, once Hamas doesn't follow the ICJ's instructions.

-> Two or three analysts and interpreters suggested that Israel should file a counter lawsuit against the countries supporting Hamas, and who are a part of the axis that enabled the Oct 7 massacre, including South Africa, Iran, Qatar, Lebanon, etc. Hamas is genocidal in the very purpose for its existence, and it could do what it did only thanks to the support of those countries. It's Hamas' atrocities that caused this war and the situation in Gaza that the judges referenced. Those countries should be the ones having to defend themselves.

-> The ICJ is the judicial arm of the UN. As such, the court did what many UN organizations do, which is rely on what was said by other UN organizations. So this is an important thing to remind everyone: the UN has been consistently biased against Israel. The UN has been complicit in Hamas crimes for 16 years in Gaza. The UN is NOT trustworthy when it comes to Israel.

-> The ICJ also granted a provisional measure, stating Israel must prosecute those who are guilty of incitement calling for the genocide of Palestinians, which as an idea, is fine. The issue is that the court also quoted several sayings that were about destroying Hamas, not about destroying the Palestinians. That the ICJ can't make that distinction, that it might limit the freedom of speech of Israelis to call for the destruction of a genocidal, antisemitic terrorist organization, is unheard of and is another example of the issues with this court.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[fatuismooches]

SMOOCHES imagine. Zandik realizes you're giving him so much, all this love and attention he's never received before, and he... doesn't like that. He's hardly given you anything, why do you give so much without asking for anything in return? So he begins trying to match your energy. He wants to see what will happen. Will you get overwhelmed? Will you be accepting? He's curious.

This backfires for him, because you double your efforts in loving him. Every time he tries to match you, you up the ante. When he asks why, he's flabbergasted by the answer.

"I want to make sure you always feel loved, no matter what."

Zandik considers himself a logical man, one of reason and science. He believes the way to truth is through hypothesizing and experimentation. Which is why he finds himself pondering and thinking about your actions far too much. Are you perhaps conducting an experiment on him? Is that why you are being so doting and loving? Is that why you love him so much and try so hard for him despite his lackluster actions? Are you trying to see how long it'll take for him to let his guard down, and then take advantage of him? (He knows he's lying to himself, but he can't help it.) Interesting, very interesting, and quite intelligent of you to be honest. He has to applaud your perseverance, not many would take it this far for someone like him. Alright, then he will do the same thing, You will become his little test subject as well, and then he will see how you like the tables being turned. Sure, it's going to be a bit of a struggle for him to be as affectionate as you, but he will do it, for the sake of the experiment. Yes, the experiment... that's totally what this is for.

Unfortunately, the variables of this experiment were far out of his control. Zandik genuinely didn't think it was possible for you to be even more lovey dovey, but here he was now, practically being smothered by how affectionate you were being. For once, Zandik is completely and utterly... outclassed. He simply can't hope to match you in this area... now he just has to know, for his notes and future reference, why do you go so far? Especially for him? Your answer is laughably simple, and he too would have laughed if he wasn't so shocked. You just wanted to make sure he felt loved at all times. How dumb, Zandik thinks. How dumb... how stupid of you to waste your time and energy on something like that...

But this was the only experiment Zandik has ever been glad that it resulted in a failure.

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 45: Absence

Summary: Loki takes a trip abroad and longs for what he left behind.

Word Count: 2,059

Author's Notes: Hey everyone. This chapter of Thrown will be the last one posted until January. Holidays are taking their toll and my writing speed has slowed considerably so I'm going to take a little hiatus. My current plan is to start posting again on January 11, 2024, and hopefully returning to the once-a-week schedule at that time. Thanks again for your patience. Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates, and take care.

Thrown Masterlist Loki Masterlist

Loki didn't care for it, the Avengers compound. It was all much too pristine. Clean lines and straight edges. Crisp white and chrome and glass. Sterile. It felt lifeless, when compared to the meandering streets and stone buildings back in New Asgard. Perhaps worst of all, it was full of Avengers.

The tower had been superior, Loki felt. At least the tower had a certain element of grandeur going for it. He kept this opinion to himself. Something told him that may be a sore point.

This trip had been mandatory. There were things to discuss regarding New Asgard, but chief among them was the fact of Loki's continued residency. They called it a "review of progress", but obviously it was a check in to make certain he hadn't been using his freedom to plot some sort of coup. The euphemism was laughable. Loki wouldn't deny that he had progressed, in many ways quite drastically, since he came to this realm, but in what way could these men hope to measure it?

Moreover, he found it insulting that they believed if he had been plotting a coup, that they any hope of detecting it.

There had been interviews and meetings and endless questions. Thor had, apparently, written very detailed reports regarding the goings-on of New Asgard, and particularly Loki's contributions. While the descriptions in the reports were true, Loki felt they portrayed his actions in an overly-generous light.

Throughout the assessments and interrogations, Loki hadn't mentioned you. There were a number of reasons, of course. They would not be likely to understand the way he cared for you, and even less likely to understand the way you cared for him. They would wonder how it was possible that someone like you might love him. He didn't have the energy to explain that he wondered the same thing. They would suspect he had bewitched or corrupted you somehow. Possibly, they might insult you for your folly, which was certainly not something he would be able to tolerate. More than any of that, however, describing you to them simply felt wrong. You were something more precious than this. This trip here was a direct result of the most terrible period of his life. A punctuation on his misery. Even drawing the concept of you into this mire felt like it would sully you somehow.

And so he refrained from mentioning the source of his most drastic changes while here on Midgard. Thor followed his lead, and only brought you up occasionally, and then he only described you as their friend. Loki was grateful.

The days dragged on. Any time he felt that surely he had answered every question of every authority, there was someone new with something else they had to ask, just to be sure. And still that was not the most unbearable part. The most unbearable part was being away from you. This absence made him question how he had ever gone so long without putting his hands on you. It was ridiculous, in the basest sense. He had gone much longer than this without seeing you. He had gone a thousand years without seeing you. He had ached for you for months while standing by your side, but somehow this ache was stronger.

Thor relayed messages by text, and even offered to facilitate a call, which Loki accepted only once. The walls here were listening, quite literally, and there was little he wanted to say to you that he was comfortable having recorded by Stark. Still, hearing your voice had buoyed his spirits and made the rest of this trip moderately more tolerable.

One night, Loki dreamed. He was aware of the dream immediately. He was on the mountain terrace that your hiking trail led to, standing by the stream. The moon was bright and the stars were out, as they had been this past winter when you had brought them here. You were there, standing near the edge, looking out over the landscape. He breathed your name. You looked back over your shoulder, a smile breaking immediately. "Loki." It was only his name, but it carried with it all the longing that he felt. The two of you met and embraced and it all seemed so real; the air, the sky, your skin. It was an illusion, yes, but it was true enough for now, and he held you in his arms for the rest of the night, if only in his dream.

**

This morning was to be their last here at the Compound. There was another meeting, supposedly the final one, where Loki would be interrogated. Thor insisted that "interrogated" was not the right word. Loki felt certain that it was the right word when he found himself sitting at a glass table in some conference room, his brother beside him, with Stark, Rogers, and Fury seated across. Stark and Rogers seemed to be amiable enough, but Fury kept a stone-faced expression. Loki realized he had never seen the man look anything other than angry, or at best mildly irritated. It could be that his face simply looked that way. Perhaps having just the one eye was naturally limiting in expression. He and Thor should exchange notes, he thought. He was not foolish enough to say it out loud.

"I gotta hand it to you, Billy Goat Gruff, you're earning all the gold stars here." Stark wore that insufferable smirk of his. "What he means to say," Rogers, ever the peacemaker, cut in, "is that we think you've been doing very well in your time in New Asgard." "I'm grateful that my existence meets your approval." Loki fought to keep his teeth from grinding. "Oh come on, don't be like that." Stark closed a folder in front of him with a flourish. "You know why we feel the way we do. Before you showed up here in your TARDIS, the last time we met you were blowing us up and tossing us off buildings. I mean, you cut out a man's eyeball for god's sake. Completely unnecessary move, I might add." Loki looked away with a scowl, fighting back violent memories. "And now," Stark continued, "now you're carrying groceries and building homes and teaching underprivileged kids magic algebra or whatever." He leaned back in his chair. "I think it's understandable that we're impressed. You've worked so hard to overcome your natural tendencies." "Perhaps you've mistaken what my natural tendencies are." Loki muttered. "And we're willing to accept that." Rogers offered. "But you understand why we've had to take these measures." "Certainly." "That being said," he glanced at Stark and Fury, "I think we can agree that we can lighten up a bit. Less surveillance. Fewer reports. You've put in the work and you've earned a bit more trust." Loki was annoyed with himself for feeling appreciative of such a meager gesture. But he did, all the same. "Thank you."

Fury spoke for the first time. "I have a few questions first, before we loosen the leash on this would-be mass murder." Thor scowled at the title, but didn't respond otherwise. Loki nodded. "I am happy to oblige." Fury leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, lacing his fingers. "We've spoken at length about your past; the good and the bad. I want to talk about your future." "Of course." "What do you see in your future? Are you really content living in a small town on the coast of Norway? Ruling over nothing in particular? Do you truly think a prince, a god, like you won't get bored? Crave something more?"

Images passed through Loki's mind. The winding streets of New Asgard, the road that led to the mortal town, your farm nestled in the bend. He saw your studio, your kitchen, your face. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I can say with absolute certainty that everything I crave can be found in New Asgard. Even now, all I wish is to be there again."

Fury's eye bored into him, perhaps trying to judge if he was sincere. He seemed to find what he was looking for and leaned back in his seat.

It was silent for a moment, Stark cut his eyes from one person to the next and drummed his fingers on the table. "Okay, so we're done here? The wonder twins are free to go?"

**

If Loki had his way they would have made for the hangar directly from that conference room, but there were hours still to pass before departure. Thor had to pack, he had farewells to bid, and even had lunch with some of his teammates. Loki caught word that the Widow would be there and he was certain his presence would sour the mood. He abstained, and had a meager meal in his room instead. He fixed his mind on the promise of seeing you again and whiled away the hours until finally, finally they boarded the quinjet. The flight was tolerable enough, knowing that every minute brought him closer to you. When they landed he didn't bother going home at all. He said his goodbye to Thor and immediately set off down the road from New Asgard.

He opened your door and was met with the smell of baking. You were in the kitchen, one tray of cookies cooling on a rack and another about to enter the oven. His ache was soothed at seeing you, but it wasn't enough. He called your name as he crossed the room as quickly as he could.

You glanced up at him as he reached you. "Oh, hey Loki." It was much more casual than he expected. Not deterred, he leaned in to kiss you but missed his target as you turned away to place the tray in the oven. "How was your flight back?" He was stunned for a moment, but took a step closer. "It was fine." He leaned again and once more you took no notice and turned at the last moment to another counter. This time he narrowed his eyes. "No fights with Thor?" He didn't answer, instead he placed himself in your path and his suspicions were confirmed when you casually turned from him and reached up to open a cabinet. You startled when his arm shot out and snapped it shut. His eyes were burning as he loomed and growled. "If you don't kiss me immediately I will burn this realm to the ground." You considered this for a moment. "Where would you start? There are a couple places I would-" You were cut off as he looped an arm around your waist and pulled you close in a crushing kiss. He was gratified when your hands immediately found their place at his shoulders.

Once he was satisfied he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours. "You are, without question, the most irritating, petulant mortal I have ever had the misfortune of loving." A smirk curled your lips. "How many mortals have you loved?" He chuckled softly and kissed your cheek. "Just the one." "Sounds like I'll be winning a bunch of titles, then." "Yes. Superlative in all respects."

He was pleased to notice that your hands didn't leave him, winding their way around his neck. You leaned your head against his shoulder and sighed. "I missed you." "And I, you. Desperately." "How did it go?" "Very well. For several days I refrained from throwing Stark out of a window. A resounding success." You laughed. "I'm so proud of you." "And how were things here?" "I wasted away, pining for my lost love." "I should expect nothing less." He stated solemnly. "I do have the remedy."

Without notice, he bent and grasped your waist, effortlessly tossing you over his shoulder. You squealed. "Loki!" He started carrying you toward the bedroom. You kicked and wriggled, to his absolute delight. "Loki wait!" "Oh, I have waited long enough, I think." You reached away from him, toward the oven. "The cookies!" "You should have considered that before you gave that insolent performance at my homecoming." You struggled some more, laughing. "At least let me turn the oven off!" He waved a hand and there was a click of a knob. With no more excuses, you relented.

He stepped into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Thrown Tag List If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.

@mischief2sarawr, @imalovernotahater, @norestfortheshelbywicked, @purplekitten30, @ozymdias, @pdraxxi, @goblingirlsarah, @chantsdemarins, @n3rdybirdee, @marvel-love24, @lokiprompts, @ladymischief11, @gigglingtiggerv2, @lilmilkbun, @huntress-artemiss, @ellooo0ooo, @femme1fatale, @clairewinchester14, @glitterylokislut, @psychospore, @ladyloki3, @skinij3fx, @iamlokisgloriouspurpose, @lunarnights95, @callxmexnadine, @lilibet261, @valeave, @f2mhg2lt2rta, @fruit-caught-on-camera, @ladymischief11, @paetonnn, @confusedpanda-777, @honeyrydernot, @sarcastic-siren, @wolfsmom1, @lokisgoodgirl, @cakesandtom, @unlucky-number-13, @rinnwylde, @javagirl328, @josiedoesdoodles, @rose7420, @ultrasnakesona, @vickie5446, @superficialdomina, @ireallyneedtherapy, @weirdowoody, @hotmesshobbit, @buttercupcookies-blog, @km-ffluv, @mrsbarnes32557038, @tallseaweed, @leothecat97, @soulpiercing, @axen-gers, @im-a-slut-for-fluff, @jainaeatsstars, @whattwhoo, @xxfaithlynxx, @thisisew, @rvautomatic, @herdetectivetheorist, @rhiannon-russo, @loki-godofstories, @thedistractedagglomeration, @halepack2011, @kalibrate @fireflymoonwitch

[melodic-haze]

REQUEST: A reader much more powerful than Arlecchino and not doing anything about it.. except in bed.

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Mention of bloodplay at the very end but like. Very minor. Otherwise there's nothing 🤷‍♀️

☆ — NOTES: I'M NEVER TOUCHING MY DRAFTS WHEN I JUST WOKE UP EVER AGAIN I'M SO SORRY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this was kinda bad dawg am sorry 😞

☆ — PARTS: Part 1, Part 2 (you are here)

Tall AND powerful??? Ohhhh she's gonna die you KNOW I had to mix it hahaahahha powertrip goes CRAAAAZYYYYYY I have such a thing for it I'm gonna cry

Anyway ok so I would like to first state that extremely powerful chrs that don't actually do a lot w their power is like one of my top fav tropes it's so fucking funny 😭 like dawg you have the power to change the world wdym you're just gonna sit here like it's summer vacation (there's a reason why my Akivilicarnation au exists (even though I gotta work on it one way or another))

This is rather different from the stuff I usually write bc I usually write the reader as. Kinda weak for the sake of putting us all on a powerscale between the chr and our average strength as a human being omg bare with

Okay so. I do feel like she'd be a tad bit frustrated with you, at least at first. Like you could do so much more than what you're showing and yet here you are, not using your strength for important stuff? Lazy bitch, her children are much better than your example 💀 at least, that's her initial take, really

But give her a demonstration, both in a time of need and yk ☺️☺️☺️, and she'll soften up

Anyways it's just the fact that you're both tall AND powerful??? Nevermind her doing anything, she'll find herself dazedly thinking of the ways in which you can quite possibly manhandle her with such brazen 'disrespect'......and also? In the ways you two can actually COMPETE. Or well, 'compete', esp when she finds herself actually WANTING to lose for once. Crazy, how the great Knave would actually prefer to lose compared to the usual want to win against her opponent

You sighed, "I know we talked about it two days ago but do we have to? Really?"

"I would like to test you. Unless you would rather skip such pleasantries?"

"I don't think fighting until one of us surrenders counts as 'pleasantries'. Quite the opposite, actually."

While you've always known Arlecchino to constantly have a stony expression that doesn't usually change, you see the bright crosses of her eyes dim just a fraction, "So I suppose that's a no, then?"

"Well, now," you stepped back with an amused look on your face, getting into the fighting stance you're familiar with, "I didn't say that... Especially not when the reward is something I really want."

And she gains that glow once again as she brandishes her weapon with a fraction of a smile and.. something else much more heated behind those eyes of hers, "Do not get ahead of yourself, my beloved. The results have yet to be concluded."

..She speaks as if she hadn't actually wanted to lose. Laughable, really.

(You know from the way that at the end of it all, she lies underneath you as her eyes scan you with that same heated look in her eyes—lust, a sin in which The Knave hadn't thought of ever committing.. until you came along.)

The whole thing about her being able to reverse your positions? THROW THAT TO THE FUCKING WIND IN THIS SITUATION you can easily EASILY fold her without a care in the world. The fact that she KNOWS you can too gives her a rush she hasn't ever felt without that extra layer of threatened rage

Push her up against the wall, hold her up in the air, pin her down so she can't squirm away..........if you're much more powerful than her, she actually makes a show of 'trying' to escape you. Keyword: 'trying', especially when at the end of the day she resigned herself to losing already

She tells you not to hold anything back, no matter how cautious you are. She says she can handle it, that she isn't strong without reason, that she can endure whatever you give her, no matter what. Usually she kinda ends up forgetting anything she's said though, especially when you're fucking her SOOO hard she starts seeing stars behind her eyes

If your strength applies to endurance too??? Ohhh bye she's not lasting. Like okay she definitely has stamina and endurance but against you? SHE'S QUITE LITERALLY DWARFED....BYE.........

In some way, she actually likes the fact that you don't show your power other than in private with just the two of you—it makes her feel special, to know exactly what you're capable of. Dare I even say she's a tad bit possessive over every side of you? Who can say 😜

Just think that whenever she kinda stands beside you in public w her heels on, she's very very VERY easily reminded of the fact that you tower over her in height, capability AND position.......and really, in comparison to what everyone else may think? Arlecchino wouldn't have it any other way 🫶

....oh side note, just think about how rough you can go, biting each other to the point where you draw blood. Sorry I had to get that final bit out ANYWAY

[lxclerc]

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑

SUMMARY: in which max chooses between you or racin REQUEST: here: “a max one shot where horner doesn't aprove of his relationship with the reader and gives him an ultimatum: "you either stop dating her or you quit" because he was certain that max would chose to keep racing (the reader also thinks this) but i stead he goes like "i would choose her over racing every fucking time" or something along those lines. i love max and i love your work so i thought i'd try and request!!!” PAIRING: max verstappen x reader warning: angst to fluff, angry max (hot max), indications of sex(??), christi*n horn*r WORD COUNT: 1.2k

NOTE: let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

masterlist

Everyone knows that Max Verstappen is meant to be great. He’s meant to be a legend. In years time when people talk about motorsport, his name will be mentioned in awe. He will be in the hall of fame, one of the greats, a hero in formula 1 history. For Max, racing is control. It’s freedom dripping from his fingertips, an ichor promising him eternal youth. For Max, racing is everything magical and thrilling in the world. 

But loving you is like breathing. He needs it. He never thought a woman unable to reach the top of the shelf could leave him quite so defenseless, breaking down every wall he’s built around himself only to build it back up brick by brick with you on the other side. You understand why the walls are up. You understand him and you don’t try to change him. 

You don’t mind his temper or his occasional outburst. You understand the reason for his defenses and his need for perfection. You understand him and exactly what he needs, how to treat his unseen wounds and how to love him so perfectly he feels so adored with your skin against his.

Max never used to believe in soulmates. The thought of someone being absolutely perfect was laughable to him until you came along, smiling at him with that smile and those eyes. You love him so gently, so softly and yet somehow so fiercely. You softly kiss every inch of his skin only to scream his name for the world to hear. You touch him as though you’re terrified he’s breaking but scratch at his skin at night as though you understand that he’s already broken. 

He never thought anything could make him feel so alive than racing does till your lips touched his and your hands explored his body and he realized you’re a different kind of adrenaline. You are more than ichor and gold, more than glory and pride. You are more, everything magical and beautiful and extraordinary and for some whatever reason or whatever good deed he did in a past life, you’re his.

“Max, are you even listening to me?” Christian Horner demanded, irritation in his voice as he pulled Max out of the thoughts of you.

He’s not producing his usual great results, usually only ever landing with p5s to p7s. His feet haven't touched podiums in a while and he knows that Christian is beginning to lose his patience. The Red bull principal thinks it’s you. What else would it be? Ever since you came around, Max has been nothing but loud laughs and beaming smiles, nothing at all like the angry and focused Max Verstappen, world champion, that everyone knows. 

Some would argue that p5s and p7s are great results but not for Christian Horner and not for Max Verstappen. He’s meant to be great, greater than the others. He’s meant to be a legend.

“If you’re not ready to dedicate yourself to this and our goal then I don’t think you should be here,” Christian continues. 

Max’s head snapped up. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying you’re either racing with us or playing happy couples with Y/N. You can’t have it both.” 

The usual fury in his eyes returns, his body stiffening and his fist clenching. He looks terrifying and from your place outside the room, you’re almost amazed how Christian can hold his gaze. “Are you making me choose between her and racing?” 

“Yes.” 

You want to scream. You want to curl up in a ball and cry. Instead, you stand up and walk away so you wouldn’t have to hear him say it. You know Max loves you. He’s never failed to let you know, to show you but you also know that his love for you is nothing close to his love for the sport. It’s his life, his dream, everything he’s worked for. Racing is in his blood, ingrained in his DNA. It’s in every atom and neuron in his body. Max is racing. 

He would choose you over anything else but this and as much as you want to kneel in front of him and ask him not to leave you, to choose you, you know it would be selfish of you to do so. Asking him to give up a sport he dedicated his entire life to would be your biggest act of selfishness. 

Love is not selfish and neither are you. 

From inside the room, Max watched you walk away, knowing that you heard everything. His jaw clenched in anger at the satisfaction in Christian’s eyes but he forces himself to keep still. Instead, he removes his red bull cap, slamming it on the table.

“I quit racing then,” he said, voice shaking from unreleased anger. “I don’t think you understand, Horner. I will always choose her. Over racing, over a championship, over anything, I will choose her without a second thought, without hesitation.” 

And with that, Max stands and walks away, leaving the red bull team principal shocked and frozen in place, slowly realizing that he lost in a dangerous game he started. 

Max is quick to search for you, asking everyone he passes by if they’ve seen you around. They all say the same thing – you running to his drivers room, tears streaming down your face. His heart clenches painfully at the thought. 

He finds you on the couch in his drivers room, arms wrapped around your legs and your face pushed against your knees as sobs shake your body and when you look up at him, your pretty face littered with tears and your eyes glassy, he almost wants to tear his heart out. 

You try to wipe at your tears hastily as he moves to approach you. “I-I can be gone in an hour. Just…I need to book a ticket back home and maybe I can have my stuff out of your apartment before the weekend ends and–”

He cups your face with his palms. “What are you talking about, Schatje? You’re not going anywhere.” 

You try to hold yourself back from leaning into his touch. “But Horner–”

“Horner can fuck himself,” Max interrupts. “Nothing will make me leave. I’m here till you ask me to go.” 

You want to cry again as he wraps you in his arms, pulling you against his chest. “But racing, Max. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

“All I want is to be with you. All the time. Until we’re gray and old and can barely stand, I want to be holding your hand. You’re all I want. I will always choose you, Y/N.” 

You suck in a deep breath as your hands grips at his shirt. To be loved so fiercely and so extraordinarily is terrifying but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“What about racing?” You ask again. 

“I can always choose another team,” he says. He’s right. Any other team principal would sell their limbs to have him drive for them. Christian Horner is an idiot if he thought it's Max’s lost. 

“I love you,” you mutter against the skin of his neck. 

“I love you,” he says. “More than anything.”

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @rdtbattinson

[olderthannetfic]

re sensitivity readers, my friend is working on a novel-length fanfic which features a trans main character. She's cis, and she handed the draft off to me (trans man) for what she called a "reality check". She knows I'm about as far from purity police as they get, and she wanted to make sure she didn't get anything laughably wrong in her depiction of a character with biology akin to my own.

I'm not reading for sensitivity, I'm not here to make sure the depiction is educational enough or coddles the reader enough or is kind enough to the characters as people; I'm reading for silly flubs that would take a reader out of the story, the same way a britpicker would.

So far, the only thing we're changing is a scene where a character is supposed to have some unrealistic expectations about the physical results of HRT, but the author underestimated just how much HRT can actually do and the character's "unrealistic" expectations were well within the range of realistic potential results.

We're still trying to decide how to credit me in the summary/notes. We don't want to list me as a sensitivity reader and give the false impression that the fic is gentle and sensitive and nothing bad happens to trans characters, but we also don't want to just list me as a beta reader, 'cause I'm not betaing any grammar or pacing.

--

"Topic beta", maybe? Or just "advice on trans stuff"?

And frankly, this is what a sensitivity reader should be doing. Clueless writing can be bothersome, especially if it's tripping over specific stereotypes. That's the insensitivity the reader should be getting rid of. It shouldn't mean "Everything contentious must go!"

[abby118]

Watching the Loki series is like watching an endless gag reel. It's so bad it's surreal. Loki doesn't feel like Loki. That's not Loki. It's like we're watching Tom Hiddleston just flail and flop around in a bad suit. He reminds me, (and someone else also pointed this out, I can't remember who), of the Edgar suit in Men In Black. And I can't help but wonder if that was a conscious decision Tom made, to act like a possessed, reanimated corpse? We'll never know, of course, but every time I see video clips and gifs, I just see the Edgar suit and if it wasn't so laughable, I could cry.

I completely agree. I couldn't even get through season 1 tbh. And I'd thought ragnarok was bad and out of character...

My advice would be to avoid it completely. I've got the tags blocked, I don't look at the new content and just stick to the original. It truly makes me so sad for the entire fandom, to see such complex and deeply interesting character destroyed and stripped of his very essence. I've been a fan of Loki and the characters from the Thor movies since 2011 and hyperfixated big time. I won't let some disney bullshit ruin that. It helped me through the hardest times of my life and I see parts of myself in the personalities of the characters, having grown up with it being a safe place. It even inspired me to find interest in the norse mythology despite it being so different. I read numerous books and studies on it and I feel like you can catch little glimpses of it in the original franchise.

Sadly, it feels like Tom is so out of touch with who he is supposed to be portraying. I hope this is the result of a contract and not entirely his own input. Although, I'm worried that might be my wishful thinking.

I was studying the soundtrack of Thor 2 the other day and how much thought went into it and it made me weep internally. Brian Tyler studied the characters' personalities and brought that into what he crafted. It was full of care. He even named one track Lokasenna, which if you don't know, is the name of a poem belonging to the poetic Edda and is about the conflict between Loki and the Aesir (asgardians). I also love how the og Thor franchise had the recurrent theme of light & shadow. Returning back to the brian tyler vid- the theme he was talking about is named Shadows of Loki.

Now, compare it with what we got in the last years (sth that feels like a very badly written fanfic). That is just a single example.

For me, the ending of Thor 2 is the end of canon and I am writing my very extensive continuation. It's the best ending we could have gotten in terms of fanwork because it's an open ending. A still in-character-ending.

The series feels wrong, it feels like utter mockery and I'm not here for it. With that said, my blog is a safe space for everyone who feels like this or gets bullied by the new "fanbase" (yes that happens)

Thank you so much for sharing your opinion, I appreciate it more than you know 🖤💚

[aaronyoghurt]

"Dance With Me"

Chrollo x Reader

This is the first fan fic I've written.

I dont't know if this will be any good but

Please be nice.

Although constructive criticism will be much appreicated.

I tried.

This will probably be a one shot and I shall disappear under the surface of the earth.

Unless yall find this engaging or if I choose to write more.

Summary: You're attending a fancy auction event. Becoming increasingly bored, an opportunity arises when a handsome mysterious stranger notices and approaches you. He engages in conversation before swooping you away onto the dance floor. Ending is open to interpretation. wink wink

Note: I have written this in Third Person rather than in Second. I wanted to try out the narrative perspective but I am curious to know which of the two you prefer as a reader :)

Enjoy...

(2.06 k words)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smooth red liquid of the expensive wine cautiously slid down her throat as she observed her current surroundings. The soft classical music from the band of musicians flowed through the air, creating a pleasant ambience that entertained the auditory senses. Meanwhile, a swarm of mingling bodies idly danced through the grand intricate hall. The ruby wine, slowly swirled around the inside of the glass as the young woman languidly stirred the stem between delicate fingers.

The function she was attending tonight was a prestigious one. A vast ornate ceiling coupled with splendid decorative designs and grand marble columns intwined with golden threads, were all distinct features that screamed eloquence and money. Just the thing to be expected when one attended a fancy dinner party, especially one that was meant to impress the higher classes, under the disguise of a philanthropic art auction for charity. The young woman liked art. It is a universal thing that binds all humans together and anyone can be appreciative of it, regardless if they consider themselves a knowledgeable appraiser.

The reason for her being here tonight was not only attributed to her desire to see the art or enjoy a social gathering, but almost laughable in its’ simplicity; boredom. A result of a spontaneous decision made on impulse and the desire to escape the typical regularity of daily life seemed more appealing to regard it as such. An acquaintance of hers mentioned that it would be a pleasure for him to take her to the auction if she chose to, and she agreed. However, now that she has strolled around the venue and admired all of the art pieces that were to be auctioned, all the while her supposed partner for this evening has left to throw himself into conversation with other groups of people at some stage during the evening, there was nothing more to do other than to enjoy some of the wine that was offered.

Her gaze was trained on the red liquid that sloshed lightly in the crystal while her mind was wondering on what to do next. She glanced up at the dancing couples for a second with an indifferent and almost distant gaze before sighing and raising the glass to her lips. Lamenting on the fact that people had found happiness with their lovers was never a beneficial thought process. It made one consider their own lack of romance in life and wonder how some fall into relationships so easily, while others struggle to even find a match or simply waiting for fate to do its’ bidding.

That is why instead of dwelling on such topics, she sipped on her nearly empty glass, allowing the pleasant buzz to fill her head and enjoy the remaining contents of the drink before deciding to call it a night and go home. Perhaps once she is back home, she will decide between getting even more violently wine drunk and viciously bawling into a pillow, considering the uneventful and quite boring evening that she thus far endured.

She raised the glass once again to her lips while her eyes flickered upwards, only to land on a suit clad stranger in the now dispersed party of the previous dancers, and who was also looking back at her with a soft smile. She blinked and shifted her gaze away to the side, as her breath caught in her throat momentarily. It must have been her imagination or worse, a hallucination caused by one too many sips of wine, because once her eyes travelled back in the direction of the mysterious man looking at her, he was gone.

But not even a second later, the stranger reappeared at her side, standing only a small and respectable distance away. Declining his head a bit and nodding subtly downwards at the glass in her hand and leaning into her side he spoke, “Pinot Noir or Sauvignon?” Her head turns at the sound of the calm and surprisingly soft voice and she is met face to face with the handsome stranger. Her widened eyes meet his cool cobalt gaze as they curiously look into hers, maintaining a present contact.

Apart from his tantalising opium gaze, his appearance was strikingly distinct and unique; a white bandana was wrapped securely around his forehead and his earlobes were adorned with turquoise ball earrings. After taking a few seconds to comprehend the random approach and the appearance of the man before her, she quickly shook off her stupor after realising he is waiting for some sort of answer.

He has asked her what wine it is that was in her glass and she glances down at it as she thinks back. When she was poured the wine by the waiter previously, he had said something similar. She glanced back up at the mysterious man and offering him a response, “Pinot Noir, I believe…” His smile widens ever so slightly as he acknowledges her with a gentle gaze. “I must say, it is a fine choice. The taste is quite refined in its own way.”

She smiles lightly back at him and can’t help but feel her heart skip a beat. Not only is his countenance tolerable and fine, the way he carries himself is certainly venerable with a flair for natural charm. Moreover, his appearance is even more captivating. From the way in which his inky strands of hair fall perfectly around his face, to the structure of his jaw and sharp intelligent eyes.

“Ah, pardon me. I believe I got ahead of myself and forgot the introductions. I’m Chrollo.” His eyes remain soft and looking straight into hers, while his lips are graced with that same calm and friendly smile as he extends his right hand slowly. “Chrollo…nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.” She smiles back warmly and places her hand into his as he squeezes it gently and raises her hand to his lips while lowering his head, looking into her eyes through his lashes with a soft grin as he does so.

This catches her off guard completely, causing a tint of pink to dust her cheeks right before he lets go and continues in a soft, aimable tone, “Perhaps I was too up front with my approach, but I couldn’t help but notice your humble presence and elegant disposition. Are you enjoying the party?”  She considers him for a moment before letting out a small chuckle and looking back up at him, “It could be worse. I was hoping it would be more entertaining for me, but I’m not one to complain.”

⋙ ⋙ ⋙

Chrollo’s company turned out to be a most joyous experience and probably the highlight of the otherwise uninteresting evening. He was polite and a most engaging conversationalist. They talked and laughed for a long duration of time which now seemed to be of no essence. The rest of the people in the expanse of the hall and the air filled with conversation seemed to have completely vaporised into nothing more than an insignificant echo.

After some time, they both seem to be brought back to reality as the music started back up. A notable change can now be heard in it’s quality of performance since a new, more distinguished, band of musicians  appeared, in exchange of the prior orchestra. Most likely to symphonise a final dance before the auction started.

Upon hearing the newborn melody, Chrollo looks at her again with a more concentrated gaze as he utters his next words, “Dance with me.” His voice is soft as he speaks, but there is a certain command in it, which compels one to oblige instantaneously. Her eyes widen in mild surprise at the sudden request. Her heart begins to thump in her chest at a slightly more accelerated speed, as she gazes up into the sparkling depths of obscurity, contained within those enthralling dark grey eyes of his. Chrollo patiently waits, now with another kind smile compared to the more pointed expression he presented mere seconds ago. “Uhm…alright.” She agrees after initial hesitation, as he offers her his hand, giving the cue, to which she immediately complies.

Placing her smaller hand into Chrollo’s, he leads her onto the dance floor where others have already started their waltz. They stop together in the free space as Chrollo raises their intertwined hands into the air fluidly, and uses his other hand to promptly and gently wrap around her lower back, pulling her closer into him. He offers her an unabashed grin while a more bashful smile spreads itself upon her own lips.

“I should have warned you earlier…I’m not a great dancer.” She admits and glances away from his piercing gaze before meeting his eyes once more. His own lips merely quirk upwards after sensing her apprehension before he responds, “I believe it’s a little too late for any inhibitions now, darling. Allow me to be your guide.” Is all he says, before starting to fall into rhythm with her gracefully, leading her through every step as they progress in their dance.

The music flows through the crowded space easily, while Chrollo smoothly dictates the slow succession of steps and figures, occasionally twirling her around and pulling her in extremely close. It was evident that she felt a bit nervous at the start, and not only because of the fact that this handsome dark haired man was present and choosing to be with her, but since she never considered herself to be a capable dancer. Somehow with Chrollo’s efficient guidance, she found herself naturally responding to his movements. It was bizarre yet magnificent at the same time. As if the ability of dancing itself was innately present with her all along and never existed only as a foreign concept.

“I do not know why you feared that you didn’t have the capacity to be a capable dancer. You’re moving splendidly.” Chrollo praises with a soft smile on his face as they continue to dance. She keeps her eyes on his as they effortlessly sway to the soft classical music provided by the orchestra. “Maybe I just have a good partner.” She teases with a small grin. Chrollo subtly smirks at her suave comment as his obsidian eyes fill with mirth.

Don’t be so humble now, dear. I have witnessed how other women dance and some appear to be as stiff as rocks.” He comments in amusement as he spins her around gently before pulling her back against him, her body moving fluently in response to his lead. “I see you have had plenty of experience in dancing then?” She asks as she tries to appear nonchalant. Chrollo only chuckles softly as his sharp eyes pierce into her own. “Call it observation.” He responds enigmatically as his hand slithers down to her waist from the small of her back.

The two continue dancing until the song begins to fade towards its’ conclusion. After spending only around two hours with Chrollo, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. His enticing nature and charming persona, coupled with his appealing handsome looks was beginning to get to her. The aforementioned idea of romance, that she approached with much scrutiny and distaste, now seemed not be as bad. She could only hope and fathom the idea that fate has finally been kind to her and bestowed this ridiculously attractive man in her favour.

She didn’t know what approach she should take anymore, but she did know one thing; she never wanted for this dream-like dance to end. But all good things seem to come to an end. So she allows herself to indulge in this as much as possible and drink every drop from tonight’s company before the clock struck twelve.

Chrollo looks down at her with devilish smile gracing his plump lips as his eyes sparkle with a newfound light. “Earlier you mentioned you wished for the evening to be more entertaining…well I can assure you of one thing, my dear…” He twirls her around gently for the final time before smoothly pulling her back against his chest with a hand on the small of her waist. Tipping her backwards ever so slightly, Chrollo leans his head down next to hers and whispers the next words into the shell of her ear, his lips brushing the tender skin with the barest touch, “…It will only get more interesting, from now on…”

~

~

~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

if you survived after reading this, I commend you for your dilligence and patience.

As an FYI: This post is a result of a random idea along with me wanting to test my writing capabilities in the department of fanfiction lol. So I have no clue how this escalated to me posting this on here but take what you want of it.

If you are still reading, I would be eternally blessed if I receive any feedback cuz I deadass have no clue what I am doing.

Stay slay and peace out!

[annaizscribbling]

In Which the Farmer is a Cryptid (pt 5) Harvey

(start at pt 1 here)

Harvey’s mustache twitched. He was standing over the sleeping farmer, carefully tucked into white sheets on a hospital bed. She looked paler against the sterile room, like the sun was being sucked from her skin. He didn’t like having to see her like this—frail, sickly, injured. She never so much as stirred whenever she slept. It only added to the deathly aura around her.

He sighed and leaned into the bed behind him, taking off his glasses to massage the spot between his eyes. The farmer really did a number on his poor nerves. She seemed to think she was invincible, like every fiber of her being was convinced that death would never be an option. Harvey tries to tell her to be careful, to slow down, to not go so deep, not travel so far. It’s difficult to navigate the patient/doctor relationship when she’s also his friend. He worries about her. She does not seem to pay that any mind.

One desperate part of him wants to scream (and possibly cry) that she absolutely should never do anymore exploring. No more mining. No more monster hunting and solo quests. Harvey can’t even pretend to understand just how much she does, how far below the earth she has delved or how much that adventurer’s guild has pushed her into doing. He knows it’s more than anyone will admit to.

But he knows she’s an adult, and as a medical professional, his only right is to advise. He can’t force her to change her lifestyle, no matter how dangerous of one she had. As her friend though, he’s routinely fighting the urge to beg her to stop. He wants to do something he shouldn’t, like conspire with her husband to put an end to her injuries, find a way to seal her from the mines, talk with the mayor to get her banned. Something. Anything.

Though something stops him. Common sense of course, warns Harvey against trying to force her to change her life, but something else does to. He’d never admit it, even to himself, but she’s built for such reckless days. She heals so quickly, scars fade, and wounds close faster than they should. Her nutrition levels are always … perfect. Never deficient in vitamins. Her blood tests always come back unusually healthy. Her husband has expressed some concern that she’ll go days eating the same nutrition-less algae soup, but her results always say otherwise. The farmer usually has that strange youthful glow, like her body really was at his best. No matter what, she’s healthy. Always healthy, save when somebody drags her to his clinic half dead and bleeding profusely, of course.

That night, at the delightful hour of 2:30AM, Robin knocked on his door, hefting up the farmer in her arms. If he hadn’t immediately begun preoccupied treating the injured farmer, he would have been surprised at how strong Robin was. Carpentry, he supposed, built more muscles than model plans and stethoscopes.

The farmer had been beat to a pulp, by what? He did not know. Long deep scratches, bite marks, freezing cold patches, slime, blood, dust, her skin told a story he did not wish to hear. It took time to disinfect and clean the injured skin. He had to cut away her ripped up clothes, which were a laughable defense against whatever she had encountered below the surface of the earth. A half dozen emeralds rolled out of her pocket and tumbled to the floor. Harvey ignored it in favor of searching for broken ribs. That damn massive eyeliner wing of hers was still intact and had to be washed away before he could tend to the cut on her temple. Her hair was still strangely clean, and he did not find any sweat on her person, only blood. Though only half the blood was hers, it seemed.

Two different wounds required deep pressure to halt the bleeding. She was half mummified in bandages by the time he was finished. He wished this wasn’t the first time he’d have to do this for her. At this point, Harvey had made a small fortune patching her up. It was not something he was overly happy about. Scolding her did not seem to have any effect. He sometimes received an apology, but only for upsetting him. She did not seem to like upsetting him, but her desire to mine and work herself to the bone seemed a greater motivator.

Robin had already offered to call Sebastian, so Harvey could focus on the farmer. He was probably almost to the clinic. Now that his work was done for the moment, he could take a second to collect himself before he arrived. It would be best if they were not both panicked.

He looked back at her, each breath small and almost robotic. She was a puzzle, that was for certain. He loved the farmer. They all did. Nobody could care like she could. Nobody could do most things like she could. She was incredible. She was an enigma.

Harvey sighs to himself. His eyes trail to the bin of bloodied rags he’d been using to clean her up. He would dispose of them properly, of course. Though for the moment, he just couldn’t look away, wondering how she could bear to go through so much pain, time and time again.

The first few times this happened, Harvey took it as a grave reminder that even she was human. The perfect lonely farmer girl herself was only flesh and bone. Are they not the same? No matter how collected and mysterious she had seemed, she still bleeds like the rest of them.

Now he’s not so sure.

A mouse bleeds just like a wolf.

Harvey is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the front door open loudly and slam with a rattle. He collects himself and rushes out, paying no mind to his bloodied lab coat.

“Harvey?” Sebastian says hoarsely, eyes darting around frantically. He’s a mess, still in pajama bottoms and a hoodie thrown over top. His hair is frazzled and he’s wearing two different sandals. Robin is standing beside him, one hand gently on his forearm.

“Hello, Sebastian, why don’t you come in? Come see her. She’s alright, just asleep,” Harvey says softly, holding open the door for him.

Robin gives her tall son’s arm a squeeze. Her own clothing has a blood splatter on it. She looked calm in the face of it. “You call me first thing tomorrow morning and let me know how she is, Sebby, please?”

He nods and wordlessly and distractedly pats her shoulder before moving past her. He’s agitatedly biting his bottom lip, chewing on chapped skin. He shoves his shaky hands in his pockets.

As soon as Harvey opens the door, Sebastian rushes to her side, checking her over and seeming to count each bandage and scrape. He takes her tanned hand in his own pale one, running his long fingers over each of her knuckles. He looked relieved, in spite of her state.

“She’ll be alright, but she has to take it easy for at least a few weeks,” Harvey said firmly, “change her bandages every day, keep the wounds clean, and for Yoba’s sake, please keep her out of those mines until she heals at least.”

Sebastian smiled wryly. “I’ll try my best, Doc, but you know how she is.”

“I am imploring you, Sebastian. She can’t keep going like this.”

“Has she been struggling to recover? Or seeing long term damage I should know about?” Sebastian asked, his gravelly voice still soft and almost humorful. It was weird.

“Well. Er. No,” Harvey admitted awkwardly, “but it’s common logic. This isn’t good for her.”

“I’ll ask her to take a break,” Sebastian said, having never let go of her hand, “Because believe me, I’m pissed. I told her to take an extra Muscle Remedy and she forgot, then she didn’t head home at 11:00, which is not part of our deal, but let’s be honest. She’ll be back the moment somebody asks her for some topaz or some shit.”

“She has to stop, for her own wellbeing,” Harvey said quietly, keeping at bay his frustration and worry.

“Can you stop the sun from coming up in the morning, Doc?” Sebastian asked lightly, eyebrows raised.

Harvey was not amused by that.

“She’s not like us,” Sebastian said, smiling at her sleeping face, “you said it yourself. No long term damage. Perfect health. We’ve been married for just two years now, and I have learned that my job isn’t to stop her. It’s impossible. So now, I leave the impossible to her, because she’s pretty damn good at it.”

Harvey paused, before sighing and cupping his own face in his hands. “I’m going to start billing you extra for my nerves.”

“Understandable.”

[soylent-crocodile]

Storm Soldier (Monster)

(Art by Anonynmous)

(I considered playing coy with my inspiration here, but let's be clear with it- this a fantasy 40k Space Marine, played not as protagonists but as tragic yet terrifying monsters for the more humanist playgroups most of my RPG experience belongs to. Statting them up as monsters, in my mind, helps distance players from the power fantasy of it; if you ever wanted a ragtag pack of underdogs to bring those marty stu marines down a peg, well, here's a monster to kill! And you if you want a sad little war machine your players can adopt and deprogram, it's the same deal.

By the way, I have them statted up as scattered force that can be dropped into any setting, but I'd love to use them as the terrifying enforcers of one of the more powerful political players in a world, like they are in 40k.)

CR8 LE Large Monstrous Humanoid

Also called storm marines, storm dragoons, and thunder warriors, storm soldiers are the result of painful fleshwarping techniques being used on young human soldiers, turning them into massive and obedient soldiers. Unlike with the creations of the drow, it is generally humans of a storm soldier's own culture who turn them into such monsters- leaders who value them more as weapons than as people. The process is traumatic and violent, and involves not only reshaping the flesh, but conditioning the mind to be loyal soldiers before all else. This leaves the storm soldier with a distant sense of her past life and a lot of buried trauma. They are functionally immortal, and often outlive the regime which created them. Storm soldiers are difficult to create, and those who do tend to spread their soldiers thin, with one or two storm soldiers assigned to a squad of mundane soldiers as linebreakers, guardians, and support.

This is not always the case, however. Centuries ago, a powerful shaman amassed a legion of these soldiers in a harebrained attempt to take over the world and unite it under his idea of order. His forces, however, became fractured- although sources differ on how, with some claiming the influence of a specific breed of fiend, and others believing it was a mundane power struggle. The result of this fracture was the death of the shaman, along with most of his generals, and the small remains of his forces scattered to the corners of the world. To this day they live in deadly xenophobic warbands; in particular, they have a hatred for elves, orks, and skeletons, although most still clash with each other in echoes of the original split. 

Storm giants notably have a strong emotional reaction to storm soldiers; evil groups of giants typically do what they can to scourge them of the earth, but good-aligned storm giants tend to feel extreme pity and often attempt rehabilitation of storm soldiers. Younger storm soldiers (that is, less than a couple hundred years old) are often a success in this endeavor, but those as ancient as the shaman’s army are almost universally too far gone.

Some rulers believe that storm soldiers can only be created out of men, although this is generally considered to be a laughable falsehood.

This hulking woman wields a massive shield and weighty warhammer. She towers over her companions, and her eyes are leaking a glowing fluid. Misc- CR8 LE Large Monstrous Humanoid HD10 Init:+0 Senses: Perception:+8 Stats- Str:20(+5) Dex:11(+0) Con:24(+7) Int:14(+2) Wis:10(+0) Cha:6(-2) BAB:+10/+5 Space:10ft Reach:10ft Defense- HP:125(10d5+70) AC:18 (-1 Size, +7 Armor, +2 Shield) Fort:+10 Ref:+7 Will:+7 CMD:36 Resist: Immunity: Fear, Fatigued, Exhausted, Electricity Offense- +1 Shocking Warhammer +15/+10(2d6+6+1d6/x3), or Slam +14(1d8+5 plus grab) CMB:+16 Speed:40ft Special Attacks: Clarion Shock +14(8d6 electricity, target is illuminated as with Faerie Fire) Feats- Power Attack, Improved Bull Rush, Weapon Focus (Warhammer), Vital Strike, Intimidating Prowess Skills- Climb +13, Escape Artist +5, Intimidate +16, Knowledge (Local) +7, Knowledge (Nobility) +7, Perception +8, Ride +13, Survival +13, Swim +13 Special Qualities- Illuminating Gaze Ecology- Environment- Cities Languages- Common Organization- Squad (1 Storm Soldier, 4 Human Warrior 6) or Thunderhead (4 Storm Soldier, 6 Human Warrior 6) Treasure- Standard (Large +1 Shocking Warhammer, Large Field Plate, Large Steel Shield) Special Abilities- Clarion Shock (Su)- As a standard action a storm soldier may pump a blast of glowing lightning into a target as a melee touch attack. Additionally, creatures hit by this attack are illuminated in golden light as with the spell faerie fire for 10 rounds. Illuminating Gaze (Su)- A storm soldier’s eyes glow in brilliant pale yellow, illuminating a 60ft cone in front of the storm soldier two light levels.